


Joss100 Table - Spike

by maryfic



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Community: joss100, F/M, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uploading all of these to my account as I find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for joss100 - prompt #1, Dreams.

She dreamed as he watched, eyes rolling around in her skull like gumballs in a penny machine. What, exactly, did her dreams consist of, those slayer dreams, he wondered. Were they about him, her friends, the coming apocalypses that would no doubt be sooner rather than later?

 

Or did she dream of pleasant things, of blood screaming inside of you , splattering the outside world in a glorious haze of red and liquid and thicker things. He licked his lips at the very idea of it, a world he had painted, created, with the torn flesh of humans adorning his skin.

 

Pretty dresses with pretty girls in them. Dead girls, throats ripped open, that rich ichor staining the pretty dresses. What a wonderful time that would be.

 

Then he considered. His dreams. Her nightmares. Huh. Wonder what would happen if they both woke up. 


	2. most of all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt #2: Nightmares.

it frightens him to know that someone out there has access to his deepest, darkest secrets.  that the first evil, the thing that he owes his existence to, is using him as a puppet essentially. he doesn’t care about any of them. he hopes they all die a slow terrible death for the bathtub alone. kiss the librarian indeed.

 

why the sweet images the blood the filth of his home of London. nightmares just want them to stop stop stop. no more basement no more evil no more soul. no more bleedin’ puppet.

 

most of all, he just wants to be no more. 


	3. Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt #3: Daydreams

He doesn’t really dream, but occasionally, he will daydream.  Not much else to do in this damn chair. Sometimes he dreams of the slayer and how she put him here, his goal of restoring his love and destroying his sire dismantled in one great, fiery crash of bongs.

 

But more often, to his disgust, he dreams of the past. Of how it used to be, the four of them, traveling the continent and cutting a swath of damage wherever they went. Of his sire, before he did the ultimate fuck-up.

 

1 gypsy princess

\+ ½ of the Scourge of Europe

\-------------

Disaster

 

But every so often, he remembers the distant past, more than a century ago when he was still human and stupid. How the clouds looked in London, rare sunlight making them shine.

 

Clouds or the glory days with Angelus. He’s not sure which one makes him feel worse. 


	4. Now and Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt #4: Emotion

With Angelus, it was hard words and hot sweat, roughness edged with a silkiness that could not be denied in the heat of passion, the darkness that they lived in.

 

Drusilla was different. She was all dark prayers to strange goddesses, worshipping at a pale temple, and hoping with everything you had that tonight was not the night your sacrifice was rejected. Protection, princess, devotion, desire.

 

Cecily, gods below, Cecily. If he had made one mistake in his human existence, it was placing her on the altar of his worship, turning her from something mortal and flawed to the perfect Pygmalion, that only served to cut his heart out when she cracked out of the marble vision.

 

And the Slayer.  Mistake, perhaps, but there was truth in what he felt. Angry, fighting, straining, yearning to get inside of her, to that core no one ever touched. No one could touch it, but him. Always him.  He gave her everything she needed and asking only the smallest thing in return. But even that, she could not give.

 

But that was okay. He had always been the one being used.

 

Now and then. 


	5. Through the Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt #5: Hot

Spike had felt many types of heat since he had died and woken up a vampire. The heat of sex, sticky hot artificially created between two cold bodies. The heat of a human, dying in his arms to feed his lusts, the sweet hot rush of blood filling his belly and his brain.

 

The heat of fires as China burned during the Boxer Rebellion, when he’d killed his first Slayer and known pride from Angelus for the first time.

 

The heat of anger, of betrayal when Drusilla broke his heart for the first time, not to be the last; but that first time hurt more than anything he’d ever felt before, even death.

 

The church, paralyzed and trapped under that bloody organ as the holy place burned around them, Dru carrying him out with her newly regained strength. That was pretty intense, he’d feared for his unlife for a moment.

 

But this, sacrifice, love, letting the Powers burn him from the inside out to save her, them, all of them. Knowing that this was truly the last time he would ever feel anything at all, and having her say those words to him, the ones he’d been longing for since before she leaped through that portal.

 

But then, at the very end, when the fire was eating him from the inside out, the words didn’t matter. He knew, once and for all, that he was worth something. No matter what anyone said. He was the champion here. The one who had walked through the flames for her. For all of them. Bloody Christ, it was hot down here. 


	6. Popsicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt #6: Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the "Domestic Pirhanas" series by the Mad Poetess.

Spike liked things that were cold. Himself, for example.  Popsicles. The snow. Certain other vampires that were poofy and never to be mentioned in bed. Or otherwise. What he didn’t like was the sun. Or Sunnydale at nearly 100 degrees. He especially didn’t like his lover when the temperature got this high. Oh, the naked lounging about the apartment was fine, but the bitching and whining was not okay. And he was damn well fed up with it.

 

Which is why was he was crawling into the depths of Xander’s crappy fridge looking for something, anything, to shut his human up.  He was cold, but apparently not cold enough for the Sex-Toy-Who-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up-And-Perform-His-Duties.

 

“Aha!” Spike wiggled his way triumphantly out of the small space and dropped onto the floor.  “Otter Pops!”

 

“Whaaat?” 

 

More whinging, so Spike merely ignored it and strode like the hero he was back into the living room, holding five Otter Pops high, of various colors. “Otter Pops, I said.”

 

Xander peeled his head off of whatever the hell it was currently laying on, he didn’t care, it was just hot and tried to focus on the excited, bouncing vampire before him.

 

 _Mmm, bouncing_. One painful head shake later, Xander had realized, A, he probably couldn’t get a hard-on if he tried, and B, it was motherfucking hot.

 

Spike crawled up onto the bed, having somehow in the time Xander was distracted, pulled one of the frozen treats out of its package and was not licking it, and the brunette and opened his mouth wide, and yes, incredible as it seems, started whining.

 

“Spiiiike! It’s cold! Give it!”

 

So he did. Slid two and a half good inches down Xander’s throat, who happily started sucking on it, like it was, well, Spike’s cock.  And thereby proving that, yes, humans could get hard, (very) even if the temperature was scandalously high.

 

Now that his first popsicle was half-way gone, Spike pulled it out and trailed the sticky red dripping stick down Xander’s chest, pausing for a moment to admire the perky nipples and then continuing to the innie belly button and fucking it merrily for a moment with the popsicle and then his tongue.

 

Which  of course, forced Xander to bounce, ripping his flesh off the bed beneath him and start pouting again, when Spike was doing his damndest to cool the brunette off so he could have sex. Selfish vampire? Nah.

 

New pop, then. Purple, this time. Hmm, it was already melting. Well, that just meant it was already prepared for Spike’s nefarious plan. He cackled evilly as he dripped kool-aid all over Xander’s cock and balls. They wanted to shrink for a moment, but when you’re this hot, cold makes you hard, not soft.

 

Xander threw his back and whimpered as Spike ran the pop down the underside of his dick, over his balls, and headed for his ass.

 

He knew he probably about to get fucked by a rapidly melting popsicle, but somehow, he couldn’t summon the urge to do anything but lift his legs to give Spike (and the pop) better access to his hole.

 

Then the popsicle and the cold feeling were gone, and before he could raise his head to yell at Spike, he felt icy lips and tongue press against the underside of his balls and he moaned instead.

Cold tongue…coooold mouth…what had he done, deepthroated the damn thing? Xander didn’t care. More please.

 

Spike grinned where Xander couldn’t see him and kept up what he was doing.  He dropped one hand onto Xander’s stomach and let the other, holding a new and firm popsicle slide up the inside of Xander’s thigh.

 

Now, this was going to take vampire skills, it was. Slide, nothing going on down here, just a blowjob, nothing more…don’t pay attention to the popsicle behind the curtain, 3, 2…

 

“COOLD!” 


	7. Pure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt #7: Lust

Sometimes, there was more there. Passion, hatred, desire, even love. There were multiple reasons, more often than not. Punishment, reward, holiday, Angelus’ pants were too tight, many different reasons.

 

More than just the two of them. Darla, Drusilla, the Master (Spike shuddered to remember that night), various strangers they’d picked up to feed and fuck. 

 

But the best, the absolute best, was when it was just them, and it was nothing more than a look, a glance, something in their minds that said now have to have naked fuck.

 

Reading, drinking, walking down the street, once, even having a snowball fight when the temperature had dipped below 0 degrees and all the humans were inside.

 

A flare, a touch, something, nothing. Anything and everything.

 

It was just pure lust. 


	8. Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike hates a lot of things.

He hates a lot of things.  


Buffy.  


Angel.  


Dru on his bad days.  


Sometimes he hates the witch, or the whelp, or Giles, for not being what he needed when he needed them to be it.  


Whatever it was, he had never known what he needed, from his mother killing him slowly, smothering him in Victorian fripperies to Buffy fighting and fucking until they were both empty.  


Down in the basement, he hates himself, gouging little squirmy bits of him out onto the floor.  


Spike feeds on those bits.  


Because he is the only thing left.  


And he hates it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 100  
> Prompt #8 - Hate


	9. Is

Spike has every idea what love is, and no idea what love is. 

Buffy thought love was pain, hurting, feeling anything was better than feeling nothing.

Angelus thought love was fucking, and that was a sort of pain too, filling the void he’d had long before Darla in the alley with a pair of fangs. 

Dru’s idea of love was as infinite and changeable and dead as the stars. 

Red thinks love is giving up everything for everyone, until there are no pieces of Willow left to burn in the fires of her friends. 

But he knows. 

Love is blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9 - Love  
> Word Count: 100


	10. Fuck You

Anger is driving hard and fast down the road, Sex Pistols blaring and drunk out of his mind because Dru had left him, again, for a fucking slime covered fucking chaos demon. 

Well, fuck that and fuck him and fuck her too, he screamed into the night. 

The satisfying crunch of broken wood under his wheels, broken necks under his hands, hot blood down his throat. 

Anger is red-hot, fueling him down the road on a motorcycle now, years later, a demon in a cave, fire, burning, bleeding, and feeling alive again. 

Anger is his food, and Spike is starving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10 - Anger  
> Word count: 100


End file.
